by Leigh, J.
“You going to do this, boy, or are you going to rethink coming along?”
“Right.” Jathen steeled himself. “I’m ready.”
Hatori nodded at the stableman, and the human slowly led the supposedly docile breed over. Holding a quivering pale hand toward the nose as he had seen Hatori do, Jathen willed his body to halt its trembling. The horse got within an inch of him, and then it shied, whinnying in abject terror. Eyes wide and heart beating furiously, Jathen leapt backward.
Hatori cursed quietly, stepping with graceful speed between Jathen and the beast.
“I’m not getting on that thing,” Jathen said firmly as the stable hand struggled to regain control of the chestnut monster.
“It doesn’t matter. There’s no way it’ll ever allow it, not with the Tazu blood in your veins.”
“But I don’t look like a Tazu.”
“The horse doesn’t give a damn if you look like a Tazu, it only cares if you smell like one, which, apparently, you do.” He produced his dazzling gold watch. Squinting at it, he scowled. “And apparently is going to make a complete upheaval of our travel plans.”
Dusting himself off, Jathen asked, “Why?”
“What part of ‘The horses will go berserk if you get too close’ did you miss, boy?” Turning on his heel, Hatori began the trek back outside without checking to see if Jathen followed. “The plan was to ride most of the way and trade off horses as we went. Now, we’re going to have to commission a carriage and a driver. Perhaps even riding dragons if the horses prove to be overly sensitive to you. It gets expensive, not that you’d know anything about money, young prince.”
“I know enough about money to know I’ve got quite a bit of it to my own name.” Jathen had perked up at the mention of riding dragons, and a sudden flood of desire pumped through him. “I might be tagging along on your adventure, but I don’t have to be a burden.”
“Fine.” Running his tongue along his sharp canines, Hatori made a sucking sound. “I’ll run some numbers and get an estimate of what we’ll need to finance this change in transport.”
Jathen grinned in triumph, but then a more logical consideration crossed his mind. “For that matter, why don’t we just teleport to the Republic?”
“You can’t just go teleporting across borders, boy.”
“I know about the national protection wards,” he said, referring to the barriers blocking unsanctioned Talents from crossing via magic. “But aren’t there teleport points along the way?”
“Yes, but they aren’t for recreational use—only emergencies and the like. Plus the types of Talents capable of transporting multiple people and cargo aren’t going to spend their days doing so without massive compensation. Trust me, horses would be cheaper. Dragons would be cheaper.” He grimaced. “Hell, a full retinue would be cheaper.”
“I thought we established I have money for the trip?”
“You don’t have that much. And even if you did, it sort of defeats the purpose of traveling across the country if you skip over most of it.” He waggled the head of the cane in Jathen’s face. The amber seemed to ogle him in critical disapproval. “Part of this whole venture is for you to learn and see other things, remember?”
Jathen winced, pushing away the cane and its piercing gaze. “All right. I understand.” He raised his eyebrows. “We might fly then?”
“Heh, look at you, hatched-blood getting all hot. I’ll see what I can do, but no promises.” His lips set into a hard line, Hatori tapped the body of the cane with a forefinger. “Jephue is terrified of heights.”
The change in transport was not mentioned upon their return to the shop, though Jathen’s lack of progress in learning Lu’shun was. Jephue hijacked him for the rest of the afternoon to review pronunciation. After many oft-interrupted and rather unproductive hours, Jathen was shuffled off with an inordinate amount of work to study and orders to return daily for lessons. Jathen complied, returning every day only to be driven back to his room half the time due to the couple’s irrepressible squabbling.
Despite this, he learned Lu’shun well enough to comprehend the arguments. Jathen didn’t catch the whole of the exchanges, but enough to hear Hatori snidely warn Jephue, “You’ll soon not have a private language with which to berate me.” Snuffing his grin, Jathen took it as a sign of progress.
Looking up after leaving the shop that day, he noticed the light dimming earlier and earlier, the shortening of days an allegory for the shortening of Jathen’s time at home. Sooner and sooner. His heart ached with anticipation, disquiet, and a touch of fear. Soon I’ll be gone from here.
Chapter 9
“It’s a surprise.”
Jephue eyed the charm master distrustfully. “You know I do not like surprises.”
“You liked that damn blue coat I surprised you with well enough.”
“Ugh!” Jephue’s current hair was sable and tightly bound in a short braid, a fine match for the subdued travel clothes he was “breaking in” on their walk to meet with the men who’d be seeing them across four countries. Fiddling with the tail of the braid as if he were painting in the air, he murmured in Lu’shun to Jathen, “Three ruddy days before we’re set to embark, he takes us over to the trader’s district in a straight beeline to a landing pad, and our transport is going to be a ‘surprise’ that doesn’t involve horses? He’s got to think I’m an idiot.”
“You are an idiot if you’ve forgotten I speak Lu’shun,” Hatori replied in the language.
“Oh.” Jephue feigned indifference. “I just assumed you couldn’t, given how little you seem to listen.”
Jathen ignored their squabbling and eyed the trappings of Kidwellith with a respectful deference, well aware he was taking one of his last strolls through the city for a long time. Activity and excitement buzzed in the morning hours before the evening’s First King Feast. Citizens laughed and joked in the streets, hanging decorations or already toasting the anniversary of their nation with potent sankal alcohol.
I will miss the glass. And oddly enough, the dragons. He gazed up at the sky. The streams of colored bodies ran together against the blue like his mother’s watercolors. As they walked toward the landing strip and the stables, Jathen noticed the tyrn were diverting around something in the sky. He squinted upward at the same moment Jephue squeaked in protest.
“A dirigible,” Jathen breathed, awed by the rarity and expense of such a conveyance. Other countries used the elegant, drifting airships for transport, but the Tazu were a nation of flyers.
“Oh, Hatori, no,” Jephue moaned, and Jathen felt a prick of sympathy, even as his own heart fluttered with longing. “You know I can’t ride in that thing! I can’t!” His complexion greened. “Not after the last—”
Hatori cut him off, jabbering away in Clan.
So much for not having a private language. Jathen politely pretended not to listen while also trying his best not to stare too hopefully at the floating wonder. At least three lengths, or thirty-six heads, long and adorned with sails, the white oblong ship bobbed gently in the sky. Moored to the landing pad by a multitude of ropes stretched taut off the sides of the enclosed body hanging from the canvas balloon, the dirigible seemed like an angel come to ground.
“All right, I’ll talk to the damn captain,” Jephue finally squawked in Tazu, striding toward the walled entrance.
Rolling his eyes under the shadow of his hat, Hatori gestured with his cane to Jathen. “After you, Highness.”
“I’m sorry, Master Hatori Chann.” He followed Jephue inside. “I really don’t want to cause the two of you grief. I mean, I’m pretty sure I could ride in a carrage, if it would make things easier.”
“There’s nothing for it, boy,” Hatori said. “Truth is, the cost of a carriage driver crazy enough to handle horses through the whole of the ruddy Nation is practically the sam
e as airship. Plus, flying is ten times faster. Besides, you can’t help the blood in your veins any more than me and mine can. Jeph will manage because, unlike us, he can manage. Fear can be overcome; blood can’t.”
The captain approached. He was taller than most humans, with arms bringing to mind the type of leanly chiseled musculature Jathen had seen in the reader images of Lu’shun bas reliefs. Dark as the darkest coffee beans, he had a thick accent that originated from the same southern region where such strong beans grew.
Grinning, the captain grasped Jathen’s wrist in a shake both firm and friendly. “Welcome, welcome!” He beamed, the smile extending all the way to his eyes. Against his skin, his teeth were stark in their whiteness, though not as much as his blazing yellow-green irises and black-slitted pupils.
“You’re a moot.” Jathen smiled.
“Aye, I am. I’m called Pallotos, and in addition to being a very proud Nuummith, I am also the captain of this fine crew, owner of my dear Charmed Wind, and the fair-weather friend of this bastard.” He hooked his thumb at the charm master.
“Bastard?” Hatori narrowed his eyes at Pallotos. “You’re trying to charge me what you’re charging me, and I’m the bastard?”
“That’s the friend rate you are griping about, Chann.” Placing a wide hand over his leather-clad heart, Pallotos winked at Jathen. “It’s an honor to convey our Monortith prince, and we got to cover the expense of keeping him safe.”
“If this is what you ask from your honored friends”—Hatori stabbed the amber cane onto the ground—“I’d hate to see what you demand of your despised enemies.”
“Aw, we just chuck ’em overboard.” Pallotos snickered then clapped Jathen on the shoulder, ignoring the deepened shade of green Jephue turned. “Come, Highness, how ’bout I introduce you to the escort riders?” Pallotos leaned in and whispered, “Not to mention their dragons.”
“Sure!”
“Stop currying up to him,” Hatori griped as the captain led Jathen to the men sitting in the shadow of the dirigible. “If you think to use that boy’s hatched-blood to secure your outlandish prices, you’ve got another think coming, Nuummith!”
Pallotos just laughed, disrupting long dreadlocks as he shook his head. “Don’t mind him, Highness. We worked the price out days ago. He’s just got to make a show for his man.”
“Trust me, I know. And call me Jathen.”
“Only if you call me Pallo.” Introducing the four riders in a blur of words and handshakes, Pallo explained the two taller ones, Cale and Dirk, were his, born of a human mother. The others were human mercenaries, originally from the southern end of Lubreean, who did business for those passing through the Nation, and whose names Jathen could not attempt to discern through Pallo’s accent. “They good people, though,” the captain assured him. “I’ve ridden with them before, and they don’t complain too much.”
As the men laughed at their captain’s joke and the charm master’s continued haggling, Jathen was confronted with an unexpected thought while staring up at the long enclosure beneath the balloon. There were windows and railings, ladders and iron hitches for ropes and cables, as well as two massive, tube-like devices he learned were rare charm-engines. But alongside these necessary trappings were net, slingshot, and harpoon launchers—weapons against the wild. With a sudden fluttering in his stomach, he was aware he would soon be very, very far from home and reliant on strangers for protection. Yet, as he became caught up by the easy demeanor of the men, the moment of internal disquiet passed.
Pallo escorted the trio over to where the dragons were penned. Around two thirds the size of a tyrn, the domestic riding dragons were stouter, noses and necks not as long and elegant, and they lacked manes. But they were still undeniably dragons with scales and claws, long tails and reptilian eyes. The only other major difference was the wings. While tyrn ranged in the amount of wing joints and points from the thin-blooded two to the elaborate and rare fourteen points found in some purebred families, the riding dragons’ wings were a constant six points from beast to beast. Simple, efficient, and lacking in social status. Jathen loved the beautiful animals on sight.
Next, Pallo explained how the crew used them not only to serve as protective escorts but also to start the dirigible’s charm-engines. “We get them to pull us so the wind can move through the charmed crystals in the engine’s center. When it’s got enough vibrational energy, the charm kicks in, and then the whole thing starts to pull in air on its own, pressurize it, and then whoosh, pushes it out the other side.” He grinned again at Jathen’s impressed expression. “We can get up past twenty-five bounds an hour, but we usually keep it around fifteen so as not to exhaust the beauties.”
“Oh, Spirit,” Jephue moaned, hiding his head in Hatori’s shoulder.
Ignoring him, the captain asked, “You want to meet one?”
“Go ahead,” Hatori said. “Might as well.”
“Right.” Pallo beamed, unlatching the gate and leading Jathen into the wire-domed enclosure. With confidence born of experience, the large man patted the nearest of the gorgeous creatures. “This is Layla.” Pallo beckoned Jathen closer. “Well, come then, say hello. I was hatched too, ya see, so I know.”
Jathen moved forward slowly, extending his hand for the lovely green and blue beast to test. Wings fluttering, she stepped forward, narrowing the gap and giving his palm one good whiff. Apparently having reached a positive ruling, she nudged her forehead against Jathen’s chest, broad nostrils wide and twitching in interest.
“There now,” Pallo said. “I’ve yet to meet a moot these beauties didn’t take to right away.”
“Hey, girl.” Jathen spoke in the same tone he used on Tinzy, stroking the dragon’s face with the back of his hand. “I smell good, huh?” Closing his eyes, Jathen laid his forehead against the warm scales, inhaling her deep musk. “Just like you.” Regret and dormant longing surfaced as he bonded with the gorgeous animal. How he had wanted a riding dragon for his own! Memories came, the image of his mother denying him and saying, “Politics, my love. I’m sorry.”
It was one of the few battles of cultural prejudice she had not fought for him. Only the lower classes of Tazu conveyed passengers on their backs, reducing themselves to the standing of mere beasts. To be dependent on one of them or a riding dragon was the sad lot of the very young or the elderly and infirm. Not a position in which to find a Monortith prince and heir to the throne. Rhodonith had spared Jathen untold amounts of ridicule, and he was aware of the kindness of her refusal as he matured, but at the time, he had been heartbroken. The old hurt welled up as he stroked the beautiful creature who would carry him so far from home. Fitting. The thing denied me for so long will spirit me away. It will be indirect, but I will fly.
There was a round of goodbyes after Master Hatori and Pallotos finalized their terms. Jephue’s fears were addressed and quieted, if not mended, and Jathen was torn away from the dragons.
“Well, that took longer than anticipated,” Hatori muttered at his open pocketwatch upon their return to the shop. “But it was far less painful, so I suppose I can count it a decent outing.”
“Don’t talk about painful.” Jephue, still green, sighed.
Hatori rolled his eyes then looked at Jathen. “You’d best hurry along, boy. There’s only about two hours until the feast, and I’m sure your mother’s wondering where you are.”
Jephue suddenly let out a piercing squeak. “Two hours! Oh, by Beleskie, that is not enough time to change my hair!” He bolted behind the counter and into the back room, where they heard the thunder of him loping up the stairs.
“Well, that got rid of him,” Hatori said, and Jathen snickered. “Go on, boy.” He shooed Jathen with his cane. “I’ll see you at the square.”
Still grinning, Jathen arrived at his room to find that his mother had apparently ordered some of his best attire l
aid out for the event, his casual crown among the chosen. Holding the gold circlet, he couldn’t fathom why she would want him to wear it. He was never permitted to enter with the royal procession. After a quick bath, he dressed and went to the queen’s chambers.
Rhodonith commented on how handsome and sweet he looked. “Kyanith relented for tonight.” She grinned over her shoulder while her maids milled about, tying laces on her gown and ribbons in her hair. “A technicality, but as Thee is underage, her escort has to be family, and so…”
“You get to be my escort,” Thee broke in, looking up from where she kneeled by Dolomith’s cradle.
Straightening the crown on his head, Jathen felt every ounce of the weighty diamonds and amethysts sewn into the sleeves of his formal robes. “But not a prince. Not the heir.”
“It’s something, hatchling,” Petalith scolded from her spot at the queen’s desk. She didn’t glance up, but Jathen felt her disapproval. “Take it and be grateful.”
When they arrived at Selenite Square, Jathen was the only one to dismount from the obliging Eglestonith and receive a round of nasty glares, even though both Rhodonith and Thee rode in as well because of their unshifting clothing and jewels. Scornful metallic stares from the gaggle of Chertith, Attieth, and Grandidieriss families greeted him. Dolomith’s father, Clevelandith, served as Rhodonith’s escort, and he fixed a particularly piercing emerald stare upon Jathen.
Jathen decided to embrace the moment, throwing his chin up high at the sage-green-and-yellow-patterned nobleman. His pride was short lived, however.
Kyanith arrived clad in the full regalia of his rank, complete with the king’s golden bejeweled crown and his current wife pinned to his arm like an ornament. Jathen shrank back, suddenly enamored by the gray marble flagstones of the foyer. Thee shook her head and mouthed, “Soft shell” at him. Powerless to pinch her in retaliation because it would probably mar her elaborate cloth-of-gold dress, Jathen forwent revenge and lined up as directed, ready to enter the huge square.